


tomorrow will be kinder

by wibbelkind



Series: and for the first time what's past is past [begin again 'verse] [5]
Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibbelkind/pseuds/wibbelkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hero takes care of John when he doesn't want to get out of bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tomorrow will be kinder

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been struggling with writer's block, specifically for "Begin Again". Several people have suggested writing something else to distract myself.  
> Given the fact that I myself had a bit of a down day today and wasn't feeling very well, much like John, I've cheered myself up with this little drabble.  
> Set of course in the same settings as "Begin Again", as you can see Finley makes an appearance... Probably almost a year after they've gotten together, I guess.

He doesn‘t pick up his phone, so she gets on her bike and drives over to Finley‘s and his place in the hills of Roseneath. She‘s got a rare afternoon of nothing much to do and she wants to spend it with him. They‘ve both been stressed with uni lately and haven‘t gotten around to see each other as much as they wish.

Finley opens the door for her, the slowly fading blue and turquoise hair up in a messy bun on her head. She looks tired, probably working on a project late last night.

„Hey“, she says. They hug briefly. Ever since their vacation on the South Island they have slowly warmed up to one another and Hero doesn‘t see her just as Moira‘s girlfriend. Fin‘s her friend too.

„Just a heads up, I haven‘t seen him all day“, Fin adds without waiting for her question. „He‘s been holed up in his room. Not that I‘ve seen anything other than the kitchen, bathroom and my room today... Mo said he didn‘t show at uni this morning either.“

„Okay.“ Hero slips out of her shoes.

Finley nods at her, smiling. „Good luck.“

„You‘ve got work to do?“

„Way too much.“

„Is Mo coming around later?“

„Maybe.“

„Okay.“

Finley disappears into her own room and Hero is left standing in the hallway, in front of John‘s bedroom door.

 

She knocks, hesitantly, carefully. There‘s no reaction. A second try, still nothing. So she decides to go ahead anyway and opens the door, slowly, peeking into the room.

The curtains are drawn close but there‘s still enough light for Hero to see that it‘s a mess. There are clothes and books and sketchbooks strewn across the floor, empty cups lined up on the chest of drawers. It smells like the room hasn‘t had fresh air in days and the bed is unmade.

„John?“

A pile of blankets on the bed moves. She sets down her bag and closes the door behind her.

„Hey“, she says, stepping closer to the bed. „It‘s me.“

An unintelligible mumbling comes from the blankets. Hero steps on the stool next to the bed and then climbs onto it, trying to figure out where John is hidden under the pile.

“What's wrong?”, she asks, prying away one blanket after the other until she finally uncovers a curled-up John. He groans in response and hides his face in his pillow. She smiles and brushes her fingers through his messy hair.

“Rough day?” She runs her fingertips over his scalp in circles and then down his neck, stroking his back.

Finally John rolls over. He's got shadows under his bloodshot eyes. “Everything sucks”, he says, his voice hoarse. “I don't know what I'm doing. I'm stuck with my work, I can't seem to get anything done...”

“That's okay”, she replies, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “We'll figure things out. But you really need to let in some air, okay?”

“I don't want to get up.”

She smiles down at him. “That's okay. I'll take care of it.”

 

She opens the curtains and the windows, despite John's protests. He hides under the blankets again but she remains undiscouraged by it. Instead she starts to pick up his clothes from the floor, throwing them into the washer. Then she sorts his books, carefully stacking school books on the desk and putting the others back onto the bookshelf. She cleans out the old cups of coffee and makes him a fresh cup of chamomile tea that she sets up next to the bed.

She sorts his pens back into the box, in the correct order. The sketchbooks are carefully closed and set up on the chest of drawers. She can't help but peeking into them just a bit. Sometimes she recognises her own face or profile and she smiles.

It's getting dark when she orders him to get out of bed and shower, so she can put clean sheets on the bed and air out the blankets. She makes pasta with pesto and they eat in bed out of cereal bowls, careful not to drop anything, all in good silence.

 

“Thanks”, he mumbles when they stand in the bathroom, brushing their teeth. He still looks tired, but a bit less sad. She nudges him in response.

He slips into bed after her, switching off the lights and turning on the small paper lantern on the windowsill next to her. She's not as afraid of sleeping in the dark as she used to, but he still insists on keeping the lantern lit at night.

His arm wraps around her under the blankets, pulling her close, and she tucks her head under his chin, resting it on his chest. It sinks and rises slowly, his heartbeat a calming rhythm in her ear. Her eyes slide shut as his fingers tangle in her hair at the nape of her neck.

“What have I ever done to deserve you?”, he whispers.

She presses her lips to his collarbone. “You simply exist. And that's enough.”

He holds his breath for a second, then carefully lets it slip out, wrapping his arms closer around her.

She knows that sometimes it's still hard for him. Some days are like this, when he feels like shit and doesn't want to get out of bed. She's grown used to it, knows how to pick him back up. She never asks for anything in return, she knows he'll repay her in smiles and touches and comfort when she needs it. They make things work, somehow.

“I love you”, she mouths against his chest.

“I love you”, he mumbles into her hair.

 


End file.
